


He's ReichenBACK

by aqua1402



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqua1402/pseuds/aqua1402
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is back and John has something else on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The return of the hat detective

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic.. Umm... yeah. Please don't be too harsh xD Also, everybody go read DevilsDaughter782's fanfic ^~^ Please comment and critique, I want to get better! ^_^

John Watson sat on his chair; newspaper in hand, reading the headline. "Suicide of fake detective" _No. He wouldn't do this. Not to me. Would he?_ The newpaper he held was now 2 years old. The same one in his hands day in, day out.  _He's gone, John._ That annoying voice in his head was saying.  _You weren't there, and now he's gone._ He stood up then, wondering if that last statement was true. Sitting down again, he pictured the last time he that he saw Sherlock. Perfect face, beautiful eyes peering out over of St. Barts about to do something fucking crazy... Jump. Of that bloody building. Trying to calm himself, John forced himself the remember the rest. Sherlock had said something.. The phone-call was his note. Why would he do that! Urrgh! He started reading the paper again and had got so engrossed in it that he hadn't noticed that the doorbell had rung until a very pale looking Mrs Hudson came in. 

"John, dear, I know you've not been back long, but there's someone here to see you" "Who?" "A man, you'll be..surprised I think, to say the least." "Fine. Send him in" John muttered.

He had no idea who it was, so had no way for preparing for what would happen next. As a tall shadow rounded the corner, with a head full of those curly locks he knew oh so well, he knew exactly who it was. But that wasn't possible.. He was dead.

"Ah, John! Long time no see, how's life been for you? Done any cases without me? No, of course you haven't. I see that you've only been here for a few hours, based on the fact that the curtains are still shut and have been for the last two years. Your seat has lost it's dip where you always used to sit, as it is now flat, indicating that it hasn't been sat on for a long time. Mrs Hudson will need a-"

"You bastard, Sherlock. How the, fuck?! I don't honestly give a damn that you know I moved out of here. You were bloody dead! I lernt to cope.. I had to." He tried to sound as pissed off as he could, to try and hide the truth that was masked behind his annoyance. "Just. Sit. Please, for me.."

John indicated at Sherlock to sit at his chair whilst he tried to calm himself down. Once his breathing had returned to an acceptable rate, he stood up and walked out of the room. Sherlock looked at Mrs Hudson, who was stood by the door, with a quizical look that was returned with a little, shaky, shrug. John returned a few minutes later with a mug of tea for the "dead" famous Consulting Detective. "Here" he said, passing a steaming mug to Sherlock, taking special care to not spill any of the drink.

Once Sherlock had drank around half the mug, he spoke up. "I suppose you'll be wanting an explanation?" 


	2. Coming out in thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, um. It's been over two months since I added anything to this oops. It's now passed midnight, but I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd write a tiny bit..please comment suggestions:')

Well, yes." I say. "Then an explanation is what you shall get, my dear Watson." I could see his perfectly sculptured cheek bones protrude from his face, as if they were trying to break free. Which is stupid, I thought. A facial feature cannot do that...even on the 'Great Sherlock Holmes!' 

I studied Sherlock's delicate movements in detail, so as not to miss anything. I wanted to take everything in. I /needed/ to. I missed his eyes, his cheek bones, his high collars and his smell. The smell of Sherlock Holmes was nothing like anything else yove smelt before, you see. It was unique. And soon, I hope, it would be mine. Mine. But only if he was willing. Can't let the cat out of the bag yet, can I?


End file.
